


The Quel'dorei Loaf

by mcaulfield



Series: Sylvanabread [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcaulfield/pseuds/mcaulfield
Summary: Eric gave me this prompt.





	The Quel'dorei Loaf

Sylvanas Windrunner stole a furtive glance into the hall as she shut the door behind her swiftly, tote in hand. It was well known the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken was made slightly differently than the other Forsaken — her senses were still fully intact, her body preserved in ways the other Forsaken were not so fortunate to experience. While many of the Forsaken enjoyed — and could benefit from — but did not  _ require _ eating, Sylvanas did, on the rare occasion, substitute food for energy entirely. She was well-preserved enough that her body could go through the motions, for the most part.

And so, it was with great secrecy that she stole away to her chambers once per month with a treat. It was one of her favorite staples in life, and she felt fortunate to still enjoy it in death. She’d found a discreet contact in Silvermoon who still knew the recipes of old and could prepare it  _ just so. _ They were more than happy to indulge her — they had, after all, known her in life.

Sylvanas sighed, satisfied she hadn’t been seen or interrupted on her way in, and walked to her desk. Settling into the grand wooden chair, she reached into the tote and pulled out her prize.

It was simple but elegant, golden-crusted with whorls reminiscent of Quel’dorei decor cut into it before its baking. Though it had lost its heat on the long journey, she could still smell the warm, enveloping scent of the bakery when she removed it from its container. Closing her eyes, Sylvanas inhaled deeply.

The scent alone all but transported her decades into the past, into a time of color and life where nothing mattered more than the thrill of the hunt and the comforts of their camps at night. Life was simple then, even with her duties as Ranger-General, for she and her Rangers, no matter how coolly she referred to them in the company of authority, enjoyed the simple company of one another around a fire with good drink and good bread.

In a manner that could almost have been described as tender, Sylvanas tore into the loaf, prying a portion of it off. The crust had just enough hold to it and its center had just enough of the doughy give she grew to savor over her years in the field. Though undead, Sylvanas still felt her mouth water at the prospect of its texture — let alone the taste.

Looking down at the piece of bread she now held between her thumb and forefinger, Sylvanas licked her lips as she parted them slightly. Glancing at her door once more and pleading with whatever force out there would listen that she would remain uninterrupted, she took her first bite.

Though it was a flavor she’d grown accustomed to in life, and one she’d made monthly habit of in death, the first taste of the Quel’dorei loaf was always heavenly. The rich, sourdough overtones in the crust paired with the almost buttery honey-wheat center struck a unique contrast that most other races lacked in their bakeries.

Whereas most breads across Azeroth were one-note or explored but one portion of the palate, the Quel’dorei loaf blended the two seamlessly. As Sylvanas swallowed her first bite, she found herself closing her eyes and taking in a slow, deep breath. Even without the memories, the bread would have been delectable — but for Sylvanas, it was also personal.

Comfort bloomed in the aching pit of the risen elf’s chest, making her glad she hadn’t been seen returning to her chambers. These moments weren’t ones she could share with anyone. They were weaknesses, as far as her strong front as Warchief was concerned, but they were important to her nonetheless. She would never  _ admit _ such a thing, of course, but it was no less true. There were very few things that could bring her any modicum of a positive emotion anymore.

The benefits of this monthly ritual went beyond the simple sustenance Sylvanas sought and stretched into a soothing that extended throughout her entire being. She felt the stiffness in her shoulders smooth out, the slow release of stress as she sat and found herself content to simply exist for a moment — something she certainly couldn’t say at hardly any other time.

It may have only lasted as long as the Quel’dorei loaf could be savored but, once a month, Sylvanas Windrunner was able to find peace and warmth in her bread.


End file.
